


Unannounced

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Ash & Antlers [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Asexual Hannibal, Asexual Will, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Elements, Hannibal Loves Will, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wendigo Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8341414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: By every given definition, Hannibal is a monster, but Will loves him still. He accepts and embraces Hannibal's nature wholeheartedly. There's no denying that, not any longer.If only he'd known how literal that description was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Or Devil's Night, I suppose, since that is what this fic was written for--[Hannigram Acethetic](http://hannigramacethetic.tumblr.com/)'s [#HeIsTheDevil](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HeIsTheDevil___HannigramAcethetic) event. This fic is complete and will be posted one chapter at a time every day of the event (October 21st through 24th).
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [Llewcie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie/works) for being an excellent beta and cheerleader. <3

_ “Monsters cannot be announced. One cannot say: 'Here are our monsters,' without immediately turning the monsters into pets.” _

_ \--Jacques Derrida _

 

Will had known Hannibal was a monster. There wasn’t even an argument or discussion to be had; Hannibal was beastly, ghastly, dark and dangerous and demonic. Of all the human predators that society had deemed irredeemable, Hannibal Lecter was firmly at the top of the list.

What Will had  _ not _ known was that, for Hannibal, “monster” was more than a simple descriptor of his cruelty.

The dive off the cliff was supposed to kill them. Will won’t deny it, but Hannibal apparently didn’t mind. When Will sputtered and gasped his way back to life on a beach, Hannibal was holding him in his lap, cradling him in his arms. Only it wasn’t Hannibal--at least, it wasn’t the person suit to which Will had become accustomed, but Will was certain that this was no stranger.

“Am I hallucinating?” Will asked, wincing as the movement of his mouth pulled at the fresh wound in his cheek, leaking blood and saltwater over his tongue.

The monster--no,  _ Hannibal,  _ this  _ must _ be Hannibal--shook his head, but said nothing.

“Oh.” He swallowed the liquid iron in his mouth, then simply laid there and breathed for a few minutes. Will’s clothes clung to his skin, but he was too exhausted to be truly uncomfortable. He longed to close his eyes, but Will no longer wanted to die, and he feared what lay behind his eyelids. Better to stay awake with the living nightmare than to face the darkness alone.

Will reminded himself that the spectre itself has never harmed him before; Hannibal, yes, but not this strange creature who Will was quickly trying to reconcile with the man he knew. He thought perhaps to ask Hannibal if he was, in fact, Hannibal, if for no other reason than Hannibal had taught him to distrust his own brain. “Are we safe?” he asked instead, but Hannibal simply stared down at him. His eyes were like two pools of ink sunken into too-smooth skin. 

“Stupid question,” he muttered, and Hannibal nodded. Will tried to laugh at the increasing ridiculousness of the situation, but began to retch. Burning acid and sea foam trickled through the slash in his face. Hannibal tilted Will’s head to the side, and Will lost the rest through his lips.

When he’d finished, Will let his head loll back in place. “Thanks,” he managed, and watched Hannibal’s eyes ripple to silver, like moonlight on the water. The rest of his face remained passive and unmoved, a grotesquely blank slate.

“You’re all ash and antlers and emptiness,” said Will. Curiosity urged him to reach for Hannibal’s expressionless face, but his wounds made him cry out, instead. Hannibal held him more tightly, and Will could feel the outlines of sharp ribs pressing into the side of his face. Strangely enough, Will could hear a heart inside the dread body of the beast, beating low and unsteady.

Hannibal was warm like this, his skin almost too hot to touch. Very quickly, Will’s limbs began to regain sensation; Will was ice, melting on the pyre that was Hannibal, dissolving into pain and steam and distressed groaning. He ran his long dark claws through Will’s wet hair, as though to comfort him, but Will was far beyond comforting. Will was in misery, both physically and emotionally.

“Are you--” Will gasped again, cutting himself off, but only for a moment, because he has to know. “Are you hurt?”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, assessing him, then placed one of his large hands on his own chest.

“Not physically,” and this was absurd, Will thought, using his empathy to understand a being that was, by its very nature, incomprehensible. “You…” Will turned his face into the hellish warmth of Hannibal’s sunken belly; his nose fit neatly up and under the protruding rib cage. “You feel rejected?” and he looked back at Hannibal once more.

Silver eyes bled to red, but sorrow, not anger, was rolling off Hannibal in waves stronger than the ones Will had expected to dash them both to death against the rocks. He’d experienced enough of Hannibal’s grief for the rest of his life; to have him think that Will bore him any sort of ill will when he threw them upon the mercy of the Atlantic was more painful than any injury.

“I thought we would die together,” he explained. “There was no hope of living together, of being together, but we wouldn’t have to die alone, staring at each other through bars or glass. I…”

Hannibal blinked. Will had surprised him, and that hurt, too, that Hannibal would expect malice after their first embrace. He heard himself sobbing from a distance, disembodied, and silver flooded Hannibal’s eyes once more.

“Now that I have felt as you always meant for me to,” continued Will, tears being caught by the crust of brine and blood on his face, “I could not bear our separation again. It was better to die than to live without you, Hannibal.”

Will didn’t know what drove his tears the most: his pain, or his loss, or his own destruction, or his desperate, aching love for a true monster. But Hannibal was petting his hair again, holding him in one strong, bony arm as one would an infant, bending down to place a motionless kiss on Will’s forehead, rocking him to sleep to the sound of the roiling sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never posted work on my birthmasday before! And now I'm going to celebrate my big three-one by writing more fic!
> 
> Best. Birthday. Ever. :D

When Will next awoke, he was no longer in pain. The bed he laid in was soft and warm, as were the numerous pillows, and the sheets and blankets. Will wondered if everything in his life from now on would feel touched by flame, if he was truly Dante, and Hannibal Virgil, and they were descending through the Inferno together.

His naked body felt heavy, and Will decided he’d been drugged. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, though; where Cordell’s medicine had terrified him, this state felt more like a hug, like being held down by a heavy weight, like being loved. Will hummed and flexed his limbs a little, enjoying the way the sheets caressed his skin. He could stay like this forever--or for a very long time, whichever was more feasible--and be very content.

Will heard the rustling of paper to his right, and looked over to see Hannibal, back in his person suit, closing and setting down a clearly ancient book. Hannibal looked at him timidly, and it was such a strange emotion to see play over his face. His eyes were wet, but Will had seen him moved to near tears before, though he didn’t understand why Hannibal would be now. With a shaking hand, Hannibal hesitantly reached for Will’s face.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Hannibal. It’s alright.”

Hannibal sighed with his entire body and let himself make contact with Will’s cheek, still tentative. “I had hoped you would not see me entirely,” he said quietly. “Not yet. The fall--protecting you--I had no energy to shift back.”

“It wasn’t the first time I had seen you,” Will told him. “I just thought I was seeing things, or imagining it.” Will’s eyes closed; he hadn’t felt this relaxed in...probably ever, now that he thought about it. “What did you give me?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why do I--”

Hannibal whispered, “I sang to you.”

Will frowned, but didn’t open his eyes, afraid that whatever spell he was under might fizzle and fade away. “Which one of you?”

“My true self,” said Hannibal. “The wendigo.”

“But...how? You couldn’t speak.”

“It--” Hannibal paused, in both speech and movement. Will pushed his face back into Hannibal’s hand, making him laugh. It was melodic; Will wanted to hear it always. “I am uncertain how to explain it. The Song is a deep sound, an  _ old  _ sound, as old as our kind. It resonates, analogous to a vibration, a wavelength. I--we--use it to lull prey, when we desire to.”

Will finally opened his eyes. “You’ve used it on me before, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Hannibal swallowed hard, as though the memory pained him.

“In Florence, before you sawed into my head.” Will was passively angry, a quiet upset. He moved away from Hannibal’s touch, and watched his face fall.

“You must understand,” began Hannibal, “that being human is incredibly confusing. I either feel too much, or nothing at all. Morality eludes me entirely. When you rejected me…” Hannibal looked away; his lip trembled. “I did not know how to cope. You were--” Another pregnant pause. “The wendigo are cannibalistic by nature, but we can each find nourishment from one thing, and one alone. For Bedelia--”

“Bedelia’s a wendigo?”

“And much older than I,” Hannibal said. “She Feeds on loss; it sustains her, so she does not have to hunt as I do. But Bedelia is disdainful of the Hunt to begin with, whereas I have always reveled in it, regardless of whether I needed to Feed or not.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

Hannibal looked back at Will, sideways, as if facing him would be unbearable. “I had never found anything to sustain my endless hunger until I met you. I wanted to keep you, to bind you to me. I left you gifts, courted you, but you did not see. So I moved to...unsavory methods out of desperation.”

“Like letting me go crazy and having me committed?”

“Yes,” confirmed Hannibal, and had the decency to appear remorseful, whether he was or not.

Suddenly, the room was  _ too _ warm. The weight that had been a comfort became stifling. Will’s anger drained away entirely. “Three years,” he said, reverent albeit incredulous. “You starved for three years.”

Hannibal nodded, but said nothing.

“Bedelia said you could find nourishment at the very sight of me. You said your compassion for me was inconvenient.” Will sat up and grabbed for Hannibal, pulled him in and embraced him; Hannibal’s arms flew up to hold him immediately, and he puffed a small helpless moan against Will’s neck. “I didn’t--after Mason, I didn’t want to hurt you, Hannibal. Why did you surrender yourself?”

“I refused to live without you, Will, in any capacity. That would be no life, only survival, and I have done nothing but survive for so long. Just as you would have ended us, I was not interested in--please,” Hannibal suddenly begged, voice breaking, “hold me tighter, please,  _ please.” _

Will released him to shift over on the bed, and Hannibal  _ whined, _ the most pitiful sound Will had ever heard. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” Will quickly said, “only for a moment, Hannibal. Lie down with me.”

Hannibal practically melded himself against Will, who was only mildly surprised to discover himself cuddled like a favorite toy, his sweater downy against Will’s chest. He encouraged Hannibal to tuck his face back into his own neck, then began running his fingers through Hannibal’s hair.

“So hungry,” murmured Hannibal, childlike, and so Will said nothing at all, simply stroked his hair, and rubbed his back, and waited for Hannibal’s grasp on the English language to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up to everyone that's interested: I'm participating in [NaNoWriMo](http://nanowrimo.org/dashboard) next month for the first time! Until November 1st, I'm doing my best to write ahead on my WIPs. You can keep up with my progress [here](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/tagged/nanoshipmo).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments! Glad to see that this is being enjoyed. :D

Will isn’t certain if Hannibal is asleep or simply in a trance. Hannibal’s breathing has slowed, almost to a point of nonexistence, and his limbs haven’t moved since he settled himself over and around Will. It’s given Will plenty of time to think, seeing as he’s too curious to sleep.

Discovering that Hannibal is something otherworldly...well, that, itself, was a surprise. Learning that such creatures existed, however, hadn’t phased him, at all. The few months he spent in New Orleans as a child had been somewhat educational.

It’s always been difficult for Will to fit in with his peers, particularly in childhood,  _ especially _ during puberty. He was awkward, and his voice cracked constantly, and his empathic imaginings became very vibrant. The changing room in the gym was his least favorite place, and not just because he had to change and shower in front of the other boys. It wasn’t because of the barely-there evidence of football players sneaking in cheerleaders for blowjobs, though that had plenty to do with it.

The problem was that the guys he changed with talked about sex. Constantly. Jocks ranked girls according to who was hottest, or who gave the best head, or who got drunk and easy at parties. Nerds were just as bad, creating elaborate fantasies about what they’d do with the popular girls, or which of them they thought about when they jerked off.

Will hated it. Sure, he found plenty of girls physically attractive--plenty of boys, too, though he knew better than to tell anyone--but he couldn’t imagine having sex with them. The whole process sounded unappealing, honestly, not to mention messy. Maybe he’d feel differently when he grew up, but for now, Will was disgusted by the casual objectification of his female classmates, and that was all he felt about the conversations.

(He laughs to think about it, about his younger self, his naivety. Now that he’s  _ had _ sex, Will finds his earliest opinion unchanged.)

Still, Will wanted friends, like-minded or not. When some of the more tolerable juniors in his chemistry class asked if he wanted to go pranking on Halloween Eve--and maybe lift some beer from one of their parents afterward--Will didn’t hesitate in saying yes.

“There’s an old witch that lives out near Saint Louis Cemetery,” one of them said. “A voodoo woman--the  _ real deal. _ We’re gonna go give her some eggs.”

“Why?” asked Will.

“Are you in or out, Graham?”

Will hesitated, but finally said, “I’m in.”

By the time they got there, it had become evident to Will that he’d been invited as the scapegoat. The older boys handed him the eggs and told him he was going first.

So Will walked halfway toward the house, turned around, and egged them. He’d probably get beaten up, but it would hardly have been the first time. But then the door to the small house behind him creaked open slowly, and then the screen door slammed against the siding. Will shuddered, but turned to look, anyway.

The woman on the porch was near impossible to make out, even with the candle she held. Arm outstretched, hand curled, she walked toward the stairs. A grizzled gray cat suddenly ran out of her house, screeching and howling, and the boys took off, dripping egg as they went.

As she sat down, the woman began to cough, a hideous noise that spoke of years of smoking. Will knelt down and called to the cat. It stopped its ear-piercing yowl, then rubbed up against his hand. After a few minutes of petting, the cat sat down and began to purr.

“Gris-gris likes you,” she said. Will looked up, watched the woman light a cigarette off of her candle before setting it down. “What you doin’ runnin’ round with those boys? You lookin’ for trouble?”

“No, ma’am,” he told her quietly. “Just...wanted to belong.”

“You’ll never belong anywhere, boy.” She gestured at him with her cigarette; Will followed the smoke that curled around her face. The woman was beautiful once, features statuesque. Regardless, she held herself like a queen, and the cemetery was her courtyard, and the bones her subjects.

“Why not?”

“You’re touched,” she said. “Marked. Got the devil in you.” Will didn’t know what to say, so he kept petting the cat. 

The woman asked, “You ever heard of the rougarou?” He shook his head, so she continued. “Murder king of the swamp. Demon that walks with the mist. Hunter beast. A real killer, boy. Always hungry for the prey he use t’ be.”

Will swallowed. “What did he used to be?”

“Human as me or you. Well,” she amended, taking a long drag off her cigarette, “maybe not you. But he turned sometime--they do that, nobody know why. Maybe it’s in the blood an’ the afterbirth.” She stuck out her bottom lip, blew the smoke out and up toward the stars. “Anyways, this is the night he walk among us. When he hunts outta his land. A spindle-thin man, some say with the head of a wolf, but you? You’re in luck for once.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve seen him, an’ he ain’t a wolf man.” She smiled, white teeth gleaming against dark skin. “Run along home, boy.”

Will stood up; Gris-gris hissed his dissatisfaction. “But what does he look like?”

“You’ll know,” the woman promised. “Skin of ash, an’ a head of branches. But he won’t come tonight, Will Graham. He’ll show when you least expect it, an’ he will eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up Will’s spine. His hands shook. “How do you know my name?”

“Go home,” she said, “and don’t look back.”

Will did, and he didn’t, and he did his best to forget the whole conversation. Maybe if his brain hadn’t been on fire, Will would’ve remembered, pieced the puzzle together. But when he woke up on the beach, next to the belly of the beast, Will knew.

Hannibal still intended to Feed off of him--the old woman was right, Hannibal  _ would _ eat him alive. He would simply consume Will’s flesh in an unexpected way, and Will would let him, freely. They were conjoined, and the devil was in both of them.

He only hoped Hannibal wouldn’t want more than Will was willing to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter posts tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the conclusion. <3

It’s easy to lose track of time here, Will’s discovered. He has no idea how long they’ve laid here like this, but he honestly isn’t inclined to leave. Will enjoys the feeling of Hannibal snuggled up against him--he seems so innocent and harmless like this. For the first time, Will wants to feel a partner’s warm skin against his own. Even with Molly, he slept clothed; Will went so far as to leave his tee on when she would take him to bed.

The effect of the wendigo’s Song is starting to wear off, though, and Will worries that the horrific pain he felt on the beach will return. As if he senses Will’s distress, Hannibal begins to stir. He nuzzles against Will’s neck.

“Thank you,” Hannibal says, lips tickling Will’s skin. “I apologize for the severity of my need.”

“Don’t.” Will nudges his face into Hannibal’s hair and listens to his contented little sigh. “I’m sorry you were starving. Do you feel better now?”

“Some. I remain very weak. It was...difficult to be near you and not touching you.”

“Is that why you still hunted?” asks Will. “Because being around me wasn’t enough?”

“Also because I enjoy hunting,” Hannibal says, “as I told you before. And your presence alone was enough, until I spent so long hungering for you.”

“Why didn’t you hold me earlier while I was asleep?”

Hannibal pulls back to look Will in the eyes. Will’s breath catches at the sheer sincerity in them as he says, “I wanted permission. I no longer wish to steal from you, Will.”

“You don’t have to,” Will tells him. He strokes the side of Hannibal’s face, enjoys his shaking inhalation. “How...what do you need?”

“I would feel our skins meet, if you allow it. You would give me your energy, and I would give you warmth and comfort. No pain, I promise you; only pleasure.”

Will licks his lips, collecting his words. “You need to know that I have limits.”

Hannibal blinks; his face tenses, but Will smooths it away again. “What are your terms?”

“No,” says Will, “no, this isn’t a negotiation. It’s just that…” He closes his eyes, disgusted with himself, for what he lacks. “I don’t desire you sexually, Hannibal. I’m not interested in sex. It’s near repulsive to me.”

“Oh Will,” and Hannibal laughs softly, “sweet Will. We feel the same.”

Will’s eyes flutter back open. “But Alana--”

“I needed to secure her trust,” Hannibal explains. “Sex is nothing more than a tool to me, a way to manipulate others, bend them to my purposes. I have no interest in manipulating you, not now.”

A deeply ingrained shame melts within him. “I do feel for you,” says Will, and it’s intensely liberating to say it out loud, so he pushes on. “In spite of everything...I love you.”

The noise Hannibal makes is almost a trill, quivering and high. “Let me touch you. Please, may I?”

In lieu of an answer, Will grabs the tail of Hannibal’s sweater and begins to push it up. At the touch of his palms against Hannibal’s skin, Hannibal melts into the mattress. Will chuckles when he sees Hannibal’s eyes dilate; he looks drunk, and it’s so unusual and endearing and Will would watch him smile like this as often as possible.

It’s easy to pull Hannibal’s arms out of the sleeves, to pull the sweater over his head; Will tosses it behind him, uncaring. He makes quick work of Hannibal’s pajama pants and underwear, shoving them down his legs as far as he can, then using a foot to take them all the way off, though he does have to coax Hannibal to help get them off of his ankles. Unannounced, Hannibal pulls Will to lie on top of him, making tiny pleased noises as he touches Will as much as possible.

There’s no arousal, no hardnesses between them, nothing but an overwhelming sense of completion and wholeness.

“I adore you,” Hannibal tells Will. “I cherish you. What we have is so much greater than love. Our bond is absolute. This is all I need-- _ you _ are all I need.” He cries freely as he adds, “Your acceptance...I am overwhelmed.”

Will kisses his pulse, and pulls the covers over them as much as he can. “What does it feel like?” he asks. “When you Feed off of me properly, I mean.”

“There’s nothing to translate. It’s a kind of coolness, I suppose. A banking of a fire. Rainwater on a funeral pyre. A blessing.”

Hannibal kisses his forehead, and for the first time in his life, Will doesn’t feel cursed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the series will begin posting on October 28th. See you then! :D

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> I also have a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/shiphitsthefan/ficash-antlers/) for this series if you're interested in that sort of thing.
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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